We Can't Erase It
by maddieclaybourne
Summary: What happened between them shouldn't have happened, but now that it has, they can't erase it. JJ/Hotch season three.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is a five part story that centers around JJ and Hotch during season three. Specifically, the episodes Penelope, Birthright and Lo-Fi, the season three finale._

_The title for this story comes from the Erin McCarley song "Pitter Pat" and the lyrics that are posted at the beginning of every chapter come from that particular song as well._

**We Can't Erase It**

**Part One of Five**

_**I've lost my sense of right and wrong**_

_**- Erin McCarley**_

Her small hands were still shaking as she made her way up the familiar winding staircase, that lead to her office, underneath heavy legs.

Her stomach was no longer as still as it had been nearly five minutes before. Her insides were tumbling, spinning around and her heart was thundering inside her chest - so loud she was surprised no one else heard it.

Her head was swimming . . . Replaying the scene over and over again. Her body was shuddering as the sound of the three inch thick protective glass shattered inside her ears. Her lips trembled as the last moment played out . . . Battle's body slumping to the floor of the bull pen, landing in a heap with a dull thud.

Her throat was tight - filling up with bile - and she could feel her face go flaxen as she swayed on her feet.

Her knees were giving way and any second, she'd be on the floor, overwhelmed completely by the fact that she had killed someone.

But before she could fall, a pair of strong arms held her up and instead of landing on the grey carpet, she fell back against a solid chest.

Her voice sounded rough and thick to her own ears, so unfamiliar to her, as she murmured, "Hotch?"

* * *

He would have stayed in the interview room inside the bullpen with Garcia, doing what Dave liked to joke was his "Dad routine," but she had Morgan who had all but tackled everyone that was in his way to get to her.

He knew the flamboyant tech would be fine with him by her side. So he focused on the other blonde in the room - the smaller, unassuming one - who he could tell was just barely hanging on, still obviously in shock from having killed someone.

He could see her doe blue eyes glazing over, her small hands - normally as still and steady as anyone's (save for Reid's) shaking and her usual strong, yet musical vibrato barely resonated in the room, as she murmured, "I have to go upstairs."

His decision was made long before Morgan stormed into the room - he wasn't going to focus on Garcia - he was already focused on JJ. His feet easily carried him from the room and up the stairs, trailing three or four steps behind her. His eyes stayed trained on her . . . Watching her body's reactions, seeing her small frame sway, her knees buckling and as if he was closing in on an UnSub, he was by her side in seconds.

Catching her, just before she could hit the grey carpet.

She murmured his name, "Hotch," with a questioning air as her oceanic depths - still glazed over - met his dark eyes.

"Come on," He said, keeping his voice low as he helped her to her feet. "Let's get you on your feet."

* * *

The heavy feeling that had fogged over her brain since the moment she had seen Battle's limp body slump to the floor, was slowly dissipating.

She had something else to focus on, the heady, masculine scent that surrounded her. The warmth of the solid body she was sliding against as she rose to her feet. The strength inside the arms that were guiding her toward his office.

She bit her lip, mentally chastising herself, but she couldn't help it.

Focusing on her boss in ways she only allowed herself to do in her dreams was easier than reliving the sickness that came with knowing she had ended another human being's life.

Her entire body felt cold, the moment he let go of her and shut the door to his office. Her hands shook at her sides, wanting to reach for him. Her lips trembled and she could feel her stomach tumbling inside of her, as a heavy breath escaped her throat, despite its tightness.

Her eyes locked on his - those deep, dark eyes - normally so intense, she found herself unable to breathe properly underneath them; now they were soft, more brown than black in the soft golden glow of the city's lights that found their way into his office.

Her heart was pounding as she whispered, the only thing her brain could think of at this moment, "Do you remember what it was like when you killed someone for the first time?"

* * *

The profiler in him - the decorated agent in him - knew she would go there. That if she spoke at all, that would be the question she would ask.

He had honestly lost count of all the suspects and UnSubs he had shot up to this point. He wasn't even sure how many he had actually killed on sight or how many had died in route to a hospital or during surgery.

But he remembered - he couldn't forget - the first time he killed someone.

He swallows hard, his eyes drifting away from hers for a moment. He doesn't meet her eyes again, he lets his linger on her body, his years of training able to see the small tremors that are wracking her tiny frame.

He knows he shouldn't - that she'll most likely turn away if he does - but he moves closer and extends his hand to her shoulder, melding his palm against the curve underneath her tight fitting maroon long sleeved top. He's surprised, when she doesn't turn away, but moves closer, turning her body so she's nearly pressed against him.

He sees her eyes glaze over, the beginnings of tears are evident, and he feels an ache settling deep inside him. An ache to touch her, to comfort her the way he knows Morgan is doing with Garcia, but he isn't Morgan and she's not Garcia.

So he settles for touching her shoulder and waiting for her to say something or move away.

She does neither. Instead she moves closer, the softness of her body brushing against his, as she turns fully in his direction, so she's now pressed against him.

He knows what he should do - he should push her away, he should handle this situation like he would if she were Prentiss or Reid or Morgan, but she isn't one of them.

She's JJ and that simple fact - that she is who she is - changes everything. Because while he could play stoic Unit Chief with the others - giving them the hard line of take the next few days off and that's an order - he can't do that with her.

So when she rises to her feet, the sweet, feminine smell of cherry blossoms invading his senses, he breathes out her name, "JJ," as his hand leaves her shoulder and cups the back of her head, his fingers threading through silky golden locks, and he lets her lips touch his.

* * *

_This is wrong. This is so wrong._ The voice in her head tells her over and over again.

But the moment her lips touch his, the voice all but disappears from her head.

Everything disappears as the kiss deepens, his lips sliding expertly against hers. Her mouth opens underneath his, allowing his tongue access while her hands roam up and down his back before they settle amongst the thickness of his jet black hair.

Her chest is tight, her heart constricting with every erratic beat. Her head is swimming from the lack of oxygen and there's a dull, smoldering ache that's settled in the pit of her stomach, that is only growing with each sweep of his tongue and movement of his lips.

Her eyes are glazed over, when he breaks the kiss and she thinks the ache will disappear, that it will subside now that he's stopped kissing her. That his hand is no longer inside her hair and his other is slowly moving away from the small of her back.

But she's wrong.

The ache intensifies as she takes him in. Those dark eyes of his are made darker by the want she can she swirling amongst their irises. The solidness of his chest is rising and falling, as heavy pants escape his lips, the warmth of them hitting her face.

She can feel her lip being taken in by her teeth and she bites down, nibbling the skin, as she fights the urge inside of her to walk away.

She knows she should walk away. That walking away is the right thing to do. But she can't.

She can't walk away with just a taste of his lips. With only the fleeting knowledge of how he kisses.

She just can't.


	2. Chapter 2

**We Can't Erase It**

**Part Two of Five**

_**It feels so damn good to write off the rules **_

_**- Erin McCarley**_

Walking away from her - from the call of her doe eyes, the blue of her irises so blue they're almost black, from the softness of her pink lips, from the warmth of her pliant, petite body - is what he should do.

He should slip back into the role he knows so well - the role he's perfected over the time he's been with this unit, with this particular team, but he can't.

He can't walk away from her.

He can't let himself make her face the nightmares of reliving the moment of her gun going off and the bullet tearing through someone's flesh and then seeing their dead body with blood spilling from the wound.

He can't even convince himself to walk away because of Haley.

Not even the thought of his wife - although they're separated and have been for quite some time - is enough to act like ice water to quell the whispers of desire, that are coursing through his veins for the beautiful, tiny blonde in front of him.

He can see her body shuddering, when he turns toward his office door. He knows what she thinks he's doing, that he's leaving and she'll be by herself, but she's wrong.

He locks the door, the turning of the gears and bottles practically deafening amongst the silence. He moves toward the window of his office, that overlooks the bullpen and he sees the lights above various agents' desks shutting off, as they prepare to leave, but that doesn't stop him from shutting the blinds.

He turns back to her, their eyes locking and the silent question, the one neither of them can say out loud, he's sure is shining through his eyes and he waits with his breath suspended to see if she moves forward or tells him they shouldn't do this.

He watches as she moves forward, her slender legs holding their air of confidence, her small hips swaying slightly and when she reaches him, her small hand is pressed against his chest.

He isn't sure what happened after that whether she stood on her toes to meet him or whether he bent forward to meet her. He feels her lips moving against his while her hand that was pressed against his chest, rises and tentatively touches the back of his neck, her tongue wanting to be invited inside his mouth as it pushes against his lips.

His control - that infamous control - was slipping with every sweep of her tongue, every gentle touch of her fingers and every movement of her lips.

His body reveled in her touch, desire settling deep inside of him and easily spreading throughout - his blood now running hot and thick inside his veins. His feet - somehow able to move - had her going backwards, the soft gasp that fell from her lips when she hit the front of his desk, making him groan while the kiss deepened.

One of his hands - the one that wasn't tangled amongst her silky golden strands, cupped the smooth muscle of her hip. She was pressed against the front of his desk, her back arched and her golden hair spilling all around her like a halo as she kissed him even more thoroughly than before.

His name came out in a breathy whisper, "Hotch," when he managed to pull away. His breathing was nothing less than erratic and heavy, as his eyes opened slowly, locking onto her swollen pink lips and soft oceanic eyes. His hand that was still tangled amongst her hair, fell away and his fingers slid down the smooth slope of her cheek before touching the swollen softness of her lips, making her breath hitch.

* * *

Staring into his dark eyes she could see the question shining inside them. The question that was displayed so easily on the sharp features of his handsome face.

She knew he could see her answer inside her eyes - that it was strong amongst her irises, despite their softness, but she knew what he wanted. She knew he wouldn't move forward, that he wouldn't given in, until she spoke of the desire that was slowly taking her over, heating her from the inside out.

She let out a shuddering breath, the feeling of him pressed against her - so solid, so warm - making a haze of lust fall over her brain and the words he needed fell from her lips amongst the thickness of her murmur, "Don't stop."

She could see that he accepted her answer and she was thankful, when his mouth descended upon hers. She slid against him, arching her back even more as his mouth plundered hers, giving her no choice accept to surrender. She sighed, her body shuddering as she kissed him with the same abandon that he was kissing her with, her hands coming up to push his suit jacket off of his shoulders.

She vaguely heard the fabric fall to the floor with a whisper, but after that she paid attention to nothing else except her fingers undoing the knot in his tie and the way his hands touched her skin, eliciting sparks inside of her with every sweeping movement across her stomach, as they found their way underneath the maroon top she wore.

She couldn't breathe as she pressed herself further against the front of his desk, her back arching more and more while his hands slipped out from underneath her shirt, instantly making her skin grow cold. She stood on her feet, her stomach tightening as she tugged at her own shirt, lifting it over her head and revealing the black lace that covered her breasts to his gaze, a shaky grin coming to her lips.

* * *

He felt all the air that was inside his body leave at the sight of her. He closed the small amount of space between them, his body pressing completely into hers and a heavy groan escaped his throat, at the feeling of their hips colliding.

He held her face in her hands, his eyes locking on hers and before he took possession of her lips again, he murmured, "God, JJ, you're beautiful."

He turned her head towards his, making her doe eyes come back to his before they could drift away and he told her again, this time his voice stronger, "You're beautiful."

He watched as her alabaster cheeks flushed pink before she brought her hands toward the buttons of his shirt and he focused on her slender fingers, popping each button expertly until, his eyes closed because her hands were touching his bare skin. He shuddered as her hands ran up and down his chest, warming his body from the inside out.

He let her hands drift toward his belt buckle while he bent forward, needing to taste more than just her lips. He had his lips on her neck and could hear the breathy gasp that escaped her just like he could feel her pulse point jump underneath the skin of his lips. He nibbled on her skin, needing more of her with every nip of his teeth, graze of his lips and lick of his tongue.

He was absorbed in her - absorbed to the point that he didn't know when either of them shed their pants and belts. He just knew that he was fully pressed against her, the lace that covered her breasts sending shocks under his heated skin and that he could feel the heat and wetness that radiated off of her center through the material of her panties and his boxers.

He knows she deserves better - that she deserves more than just the floor of his office - but this is all he can give her right now.

He knows she understands because she always understands - she has that way about her, that words are not necessary, that just a look says it all, but as his mouth closes around the turgid peak of her rosy nipple, he can't stop himself from wanting to give her more.

* * *

She arches up off the floor, thrusting more of her nipple into his mouth. She feels her eyelids fluttering as her chest tightens when she feels his fingers touching the inside of her thighs.

She keeps her fingers tangled in his hair while her other hand roams up and down his back because if both of her hands aren't occupied, she knows she'll reach for his face. That she'll want to look into those eyes of his as her whole body is overwhelmed by the release, that is coiling tightly at the base of her spine.

She knows he thinks she deserves better and that she wouldn't willingly do this under any circumstance, and he's right . . . She wouldn't do this under any circumstance and she would want better for herself, but right now . . . She doesn't want better.

She doesn't want a bed with some random stranger or to hop on the plane for New Orleans for some booty call.

_She wants him. She needs him._

And she's more than thankful that his infamous control snapped some where a long the way, that he didn't push her away, that with just a look she was able to convey what she wanted from him.

And she'll be damned if she ever regrets this.

Because it's all too good to regret.

The way his fingers expertly slide inside her slick, heat and seem to know the exact spot where she needs to be touched, the feel of his mouth teasing and sucking her nipples and how his hips roll against hers, as she thrusts hers upwards just as her release takes hold and as her writhing underneath him.

She's wrapped up in his arms, her head bowed against his neck and her breathing is slowly returning to normal. She's breathing him in, her nose grazing the thrumming pulse point of his neck and a sigh escapes her lips before they start nipping at his sweat slicked skin.

She pulls back, their gazes locking once again and while she knows he can see just what she wants by staring into her eyes, she has to say these words. "I want you inside of me, Aaron."

* * *

_Aaron. Aaron. Aaron. Aaron._

Over and over that's all he can hear, the silky tone of her thick voice reverberating inside his ears. His name fell from her perfect pink lips and even if he had an ounce of control left, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself.

His lips meet hers, their tongues tangling as they both fall back to the floor. His lips pull away from hers, his hand reaching out to brush back the golden strands, that fall like a curtain around both of their faces. His fingers linger, touching her eyelids, grazing her cheeks, ghosting over the swollen skin of her lips and sliding down the length of her arm, reveling in the way she shudders from his movements.

His eyes are locked with hers as she takes him in her small, soft hand and somehow he hardens even further than he already is. His eyes don't leave hers - something he knows is dangerous in the scheme of things, but he can't look away from her now - even though seeing her this way will plague his days and haunt his nights.

His chest tightens, his heart pounding like a runaway train, as she guides him inside of her.

The feeling of being enveloped in all of her velvet warmth, makes his eyes close briefly because when her hips roll against his, the last phantom shred of his control, is gone and he's thrusting inside of her.

The way her thighs clenched, as her mouth fell open letting breathy whimper after breathy whimper of his name escape, the syllables falling off her tongue so easily, had him rising closer and closer to his release with every thrust he made.

Then he saw her alabaster skin - so smooth, so flawless - come to life with the pink flush of arousal and her eyes closed as she threw her head back, her release claiming her and his soon came after, their bodies shuddering in perfect rhythm.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Part three and part four of this story center around the episode "Birthright" which takes place two episodes after "Penelope" where this story starts._

_Also, dialogue from JJ and Hotch's conversation at the end of the episode is used and embellished upon by me._

**We Can't Erase It**

**Part Three of Five**

_**Pitter pat, the angel on my shoulder/Is haunting me tonight - Erin McCarley**_

The whole case left her shuddering, left her questioning everything . . . Why they do what they do, if they really help anyone . . . If Charlie Wilkinson could have even been helped at all.

Her throat was tight, her heart in the tightest vice and her stomach was tumbling in what she deemed silently an uncharacteristic showing of weakness.

Her eyes had seen so many ghastly, horrible things . . . Always being the first member of the team to see the case files . . . To see the pictures of the victims, but there was something about seeing those women, something that shook her to her core.

And so her eyes drifted away from the scene where the paramedics and local police were cleaning up and she let out a heavy breath.

Her spine tingled as a soft breeze blew by, _his_ scent being wafted into her nose. Her lips trembled as she breathed in the familiarity, unable to stop herself even if she wanted to.

Her body was tense from being close to him, but the warm tenor of his strong voice had her relaxing as it washed over her. "You okay?"

Her eyes drifted away from the ground underneath her feet and met his, her heart pounding underneath her chest.

Her throat was still tight but she managed to swallow as she murmured, her eyes leaving his and looking out into the distance, "If you stop caring too much, you're jaded. If you care too much, it'll ruin you."

* * *

His senses were flooded by her scent of cherry blossoms; so sweet, so feminine . . . So [i]her[/i].

His fingers flexed at his sides, wanting to curve around her small shoulder like they did that night in his office, but they weren't in his office . . . They were out in the middle of a field in Fredericksburg, Virginia where anyone could see.

His feet moved him closer to her, needing to comfort her in some way so he slipped his hands in his pockets, making sure he didn't do anything that would be out of character, when both of them were surrounded by profilers.

He made sure to keep his voice soft, just like he did that night, wanting to make this easy on her. "Just know that you did everything you could. Sometimes we get it right with a little luck and most of the times we don't. That's the job. It's never perfect."

He could see the skepticism reigning inside her doe shaped oceanic depths and he held her eyes, making sure she understood he didn't want her to change. "It's still better to care."

He watched as her pink lips twitched into a wry smile. The wryness faded and he could see worry taking over the skepticism, as she looked up at him from behind the long, velvet fibers of her dark lashes, obviously looking to him for the answers.

He heard a shaky breath fall from her lips and when she asked, "You really believe it," he hoped he could give her the answer she was seeking.

He held her eyes, unable to look away. "I believe it's never perfect, but like I said earlier, it's still better to care. The last thing you want is to stop caring . . . To completely shut down and lose yourself amongst everything we see."

He let out his own shaky breath, as he finished the thought, his voice growing softer as Morgan's familiar loud steps could be heard coming closer, "You do a great job for this team. And it's the fact that you care, that you can experience empathy, that makes you as good as you are. Don't change, JJ and don't stop caring."

He turns away from the blonde, meeting Morgan's hazel gaze at the perfect time and he slips back into his familiar role as the younger man starts talking to him about the end of the case.

* * *

She follows the team into the bullpen, her small steps keeping up with Reid's lanky strides that are slowed from the after effects of the case.

She hears Morgan's jovial voice call out, as they approach his desk, "Hey, after what we just saw, I say we all deserve a round. Who's in? Cause I'm buyin' "

She rolls her eyes, laughing under her breath knowing he's only buying drinks for all the hot girls that will surround him at the bar.

Her blue eyes meet his hazel and before she can make the comment, Emily's melodic tone enters the fray, "Please, don't insult our collective intelligence, Morgan. You're not buying one drink for any of us, let alone a round for all of us. You have to save your money for your honeys."

She isn't surprised when the handsome, muscular man grips at his heart like he's been wounded and let's out an exaggerated groan, as he pretends to stagger backwards. His brilliant smile, showing all 32 perfect teeth appears along with his dimples while his hazel gaze twinkles at Emily's deep chocolate gaze.

His voice is smooth as he teases, "Don't be so sure, Prentiss. You break out that sparkly top you've got in your locker and I'll buy you more than one drink."

Her caustic retort is interrupted by Rossi's slightly rough tenor voice. "Emily should have told you not to insult your own intelligence, forget the collective intelligence of the team."

Her laughter isn't being held back as she shares a knowing look with the older man before looking around the bullpen for Hotch. Her eyes find him, standing just at the bottom of the stairs that lead to their offices and a process server is standing across from him, handing him the familiar manila envelope.

Her curiosity gets the better of her and as her feet begin carrying her in that direction, Reid's slightly high voice calls out to her, "You're not coming, JJ?"

Her blue eyes meet his familiar puppy dog brown and she gives him a smile. "I'll see you guys there. One of us has to try and convince Hotch to come out, right? You know it's a dirty job but somebody has to do it and all."

Her body is filled with relief when they all buy her excuse and walk toward Garcia's little corner, leaving her to continue walking toward Hotch.

* * *

Nodding at the process server, he takes the manila envelope from him and as he's about to continue up the stairs, a tingling sensation creeps up his spine and he knows _she's_ standing behind him, most likely sent by the others to get him to come out for that drink.

He turns away from the stairs, knowing going out for drinks . . . Especially with her mere feet away, her scent flooding his senses and being close enough to touch, is a bad idea.

He meets her oceanic depths, common sense and the whispers of desire clashing inside his chest, making it grow tight.

He swallows hard, not expecting to say anything about the contents of the envelope, but because she's standing there, the words tumble off his lips. "Haley's field for divorce."

He's thankful that her pretty features aren't painted in shock like Prentiss' would be or that she's not quoting some statistic like Reid would; she's just standing there, pretty features bathed in the silent understanding they've always shared.

He should just continue on his way, knowing she won't press him to go out or go home, but he stays rooted in his spot, unable to move because he can see that she's closing the small amount of space between them.

He shudders from the feeling of her smooth hand touching his, her slender fingers sliding into the crooks of his blunt ones to intertwine them. He looks from their hands to her eyes and he hopes she doesn't invite him anywhere because he won't be able to say no.

* * *

She knows what she's about to do is wrong.

And all of the reasons why run through her head . . . He's still married, despite what he told her . . . Filing doesn't mean divorced, no matter how much she secretly wants it to.

Then there's Will. Sweet, caring, charming slow grinning cute Will.

But Will isn't here.

Will is in New Orleans and New Orleans is far away . . . Not nearly as close enough has it has to be.

And Will himself isn't nearly as close as he has to be.

And at the end of the day . . . His green eyes and slow grin, don't make her stomach tumble like a rare smile with a dimple etched into the left side and eyes that are an intense, dark shade of brown.

Her breathing isn't easy but she finds herself - her body surprisingly steady . . . Not wavering on her legs like she expected to be. Her eyes hold onto his, not looking away as she murmurs, "Come home with me."

Her heart is suspended in her chest, waiting for him to either turn her down gently like she expects or doing the unexpected and saying yes.

Her body becomes unsteady when he does the unexpected, the warm, strong vibrato of his voice setting her skin on fire, "Give me five minutes. I'll meet you in the parking lot."


	4. Chapter 4

**We Can't Erase It**

**Part Four of Five**

_**You're sweet, sweet love/Oh, I can taste it**_

_**- Erin McCarley**_

As she lets him inside, he can't help but remember the last time - the only other time - he was ever in the home of a member of his team.

His mind takes him back to Elle and her home and how Randall Garner had shot her, left her for dead and wrote that message in her own blood on her walls. His body shudders and he can't stop himself from reaching for her.

His arms wind around her small body, keeping her close and holding onto her. Just holding onto her.

There's nothing sexual about the gesture and while she isn't trained in profiling, he knows she knows what he's doing. He knows she understands that he needs something to hold onto and that tonight, she's not the only one who needs to keep the monsters at bay.

Just like he knows she can see everything inside his eyes, as she peers up at him, when he breaks the hold he had on her. There's the silent understanding they've always shared, melding with the respect they've always had for one another and that something that's always lingered, but in the end was always pushed aside by circumstance.

Circumstance that didn't exist on his part anymore now that he was just his own signature away from ending an almost two decade marriage.

But she still carried a circumstance of her own or at least Garcia believed she did.

There was a nagging feeling tearing at his gut as his hand rested on her hip, his thumb moving back and forth, wanting to touch her smooth skin but settling for the edge of her top.

She knew that he was free to be here . . . That despite the fact his divorce papers remained unsigned, that little fact meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. He was married in name only now.

But what about her? What about Detective Lamontagne? Was she as free to be here as he was?

He needed to know. He needed to know before he lost control. He needed to know because she wouldn't do this if she wasn't free.

The questioning words are on the tip of his tongue and that's where they stay because she's rising on her toes, her smooth, pliant frame sliding against his and as her warm, cinnamon flavored breath hits his face, he settles for reminding himself that she wouldn't do this if she wasn't free.

Because it's easier than knowing Garcia's bubbly babble about her girl getting on the baby train is true.

Because it's easier not knowing that they'll be trapped by more than just the circumstance of their titles . . . Boss and subordinate . . . . Once again.

Because honestly, after having her . . . After tasting her, feeling her sliding against him, being surrounded by her slick, velvet warmth, he knows he couldn't go back to the way things were, even if he wanted to.

Even though he knows that's the way things should be.

* * *

She knows what he wants to know.

She can see the questions inside his dark gaze, but she couldn't lie to him, even if she wanted to.

She wants to tell him that it's hard this thing with Will . . . That it's more than just the distance, that it's what she sees every day that she can't explain to him and how she wants to, but she just can't because he doesn't understand.

She can't talk to him about Will because he isn't Penelope or Emily. He isn't Morgan who would just tease her about being girly while he cackled and sang, "Will and JJ sittin' in a tree . . ." He isn't even Spence who would start quoting encouraging statistics while he left out the bad ones on purpose so she wouldn't feel bad.

And he certainly isn't Rossi who she couldn't figure out even if she was a profiler.

_He's Hotch._

And because he's Hotch is why she can't talk to him about Will. He's always been there . . . Lingering . . . Ever since she first walked into his office on her first day.

There was something about when her eyes met his, something that told her they understood each other. Something about his gaze - albeit intense - that told her he would be there, that he would always be a constant within the team and that what happened to Gideon - the inevitable burn out, wouldn't happen to him.

And that _something_ is still there. Having never gone away, despite the circumstances that trap them into the roles of boss and subordinate among others.

Before tonight one of those circumstances was married man and single woman. Now as they say, the shoe is on the other foot, but Will is the furthest thing from her mind tonight.

No matter how wrong it is.

Because after that night in his office . . . After having his lips on hers, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth, seeing those sharp angles of his handsome face bathed in lust, feeling him pulsing and throbbing inside her and having him whisper her name, she can't go back.

She can't just forget all of that and even if she could, she wouldn't want to.

Even though she knows forgetting and going back are what she should do.

* * *

He tugs her close to him, wanting this time to be different.

Wanting to give her what she deserves. Wanting to give her what he couldn't give her inside his office on the floor.

So he tips her head back and begins kissing her face; his lips are gentle as they linger over each of her cheeks, then both of her eyelids and finally her lips. His one hand, that hasn't left her hip, has slipped underneath her top, reveling in the smoothness of her alabaster skin while his other is threaded through her silky golden strands, as he presses kiss after kiss to her mouth.

It's only one erratic beat of his heart until her plump lips are clinging to his, her mouth opening underneath his and she's forced his movements from gentle to intense.

His lips leave hers - briefly - so he can take a breath and let his lungs fill up with air before he can do what being in his office prevented him from doing - losing himself in her.

His hand slips from underneath her shirt, finding her small one that's resting by her side and this time, when their kiss breaks, he holds her gaze and his voice is thick with the same lust that's fogged over his brain, when he asks, "Bedroom?"

His jacket and tie are left somewhere in the hallway, as he stopped to kiss her at various intervals along the way to her bedroom . . . Up against the wall in her livingroom, the caddy corner just before her bedroom and then in the doorway.

His feet and hers stopped abruptly when they made it to the center of her bedroom, just steps away from the bed. His eyes couldn't help but look around . . . . To take in the sight of the room, that offered him the chance to see who Jennifer Jareau really was . . . To see all of her, literally and figuratively.

The colors of the room . . . Deep blues and warm chocolate browns . . . Were so her. They were the mixture of solid strength and a silent, easy comforting air that was as natural to her as breathing.

His arms wrapped around her, the need to feel her, to touch her overwhelming him and he easily brought her small body to rest against his chest.

* * *

She shuddered from the feeling of his warm, strong hand brushing her hair off her shoulder before that hand's counterpart at the hem of her red shirt, making her stomach tighten as she felt his fingers slip underneath and touch her skin.

She let her head roll back, when his lips touched the slope of her neck. She breathed out his name, "Hotch," before a whimper escaped, sparks shooting through her body from the teasing motions of his lips against her sensitive skin.

She knew he heard her breathing hitch just like she knew he felt her pulse pick up and she slid her hand underneath his, twining their fingers together in an attempt to urge him on, but he resisted, folding their hands together over her stomach.

She felt her blood running, hot and thick inside her veins, when the vibrato of his voice vibrated against the heated skin of her neck, "Slow, Jennifer."

Her stomach tightened at the sound of her full name falling from his lips and while she normally would have corrected anyone who called her "Jennifer," hearing him say her name was too good to manage anything other than a pleasure filled purr.

Her body - do to the training they were all forced to go through as agents - made it somewhat easier for her to turn in his embrace, so she was staring up at him. Her breathing was heavy because of all the lust that she felt coursing through her, but she managed to counter his remark with, "Now, Aaron."

But even with all the training, he was still stronger than she was and easily held her hands down and away from him as he ran his tongue along her exposed collarbone, then kissed his way back up again, nipping at her neck slightly before he pressed his cheek against hers, his mouth in perfect position to whisper in her ear.

"Let me give you," He breathed hotly, making her thighs clench and knees quake. "What I couldn't give you in my office. Let me make this worth it, Jennifer."

Shivering at the seductive timber to his voice, she clenched her fists in his dress shirt just above the waistband of his pants before she dragged them up to his shoulders.

Her doe eyes shimmered with lust from beneath the long fibers of her dark eyelashes and a shuddering breath fell from her lips as she assured him, "You don't have to make this worth it. Just being here . . . With you . . . It's worth it."

* * *

He isn't surprised at the flush that colors her alabaster skin, starting from the delicious slender slope of her neck and ending along the apples of her smooth cheekbones.

He knows she's vaguely acknowledged what's always been there . . . What both of them have tried to ignore for too many reasons to count.

He lets the comment go, not wanting to say anything that would make them realize there was more to this than there should be. That this wasn't just about them helping each other keep the monsters at bay, that it was about what's always been there.

He presses his mouth against hers, distracting her from what she acknowledged - from what both of them know is true. His hand rises upward and cups the back of her head, his fingers threading through her silky golden strands, as he moves her where he wants her. His movements, urgent and wanton, easily have her mouth opening underneath his and he unabashedly swept his tongue inside the warm, cinnamon flavored haven, showing no restraint in this kiss.

His hand started inching further underneath her shirt, his fingers brushing blindly along the smoothness of her skin before they reached the lace of her bra. His fingers inched upward, touching the center of the lace, her chest stopping and her nipple coming alive underneath the pads of his fingers while his pants tightened from the rocking motion her hips had started.

His hand slipped out from underneath her shirt and he broke away from the kiss, their breathing harsh in the silence of the room. His other hand fell away from her hair, joining its counterpart at the base of her shirt before tugging it upwards and tossing it aside, revealing the lace his fingers had touched briefly, to his darkened gaze.

This time he took a long look at the lace, how its deep red color off set the alabaster of her flawless skin, the way it hugged her high, pert breasts, and noticing the front enclosure that kept her beauty hidden from him.

His hands ran along the edges, his fingers darting out to brush against her nipples, as she slowly rolled her hips against his, forgoing the rocking motion for a moment. His hips jerked against hers and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer if she kept rolling her hips - slowly and sensually - against his while her nipples grew into tight, turgid peaks under the pads of his seeking fingers.

His lips curved at the edges forming a smile. "I don't believe this is standard issue."

* * *

His voice warmed her from the inside out and she gave him a grin. "As our resident feminist Emily would say, it's my rebellious response to a male dominated profession."

Her fingers came to his dress shirt, slightly fumbling with the buttons as she rose to her feet, bringing her lips to his ear and teasing, "Just wait till you see the matching panties."

Her boldness surprised her as she pushed the fabric away from his shoulders, after the last button came undone, but she knew he could see right through her. Knowing her teasing words were nothing more than false bravado because teasing was better than being honest . . . Really, truly honest like she had been minutes before by telling him just being with him made it worth it.

Her head fell back, as he bent his head and his lips finding her shoulder again, just to the left of her bra strap. Her breathing hitched, her stomach tightening as his mouth trailed beside the fabric, pressing his lips gently to her skin, taking in her scent.

Her own ears could hear the heady anticipation in her voice as she murmured his name, "Aaron."

Her knees quaked underneath her as they fell backwards onto her bed, her hair fanning out behind her head while his lips left her shoulder and moved to the front of her breasts. Her thighs clenched from the long slow kiss he places on the skin that's just above the front enclosure of her bra and she can feel the heat and moisture building up inside of her, as he pulls back and his fingers unsnap the enclosure, leaving her breasts bare.

Her head swims, completely fogged over by lust, as he brings his mouth to her skin. Her hands slide up and down his chest, loving the firmness that plays against the softness of her palms and her fingers blindly fumble with his belt buckle, making him raise his hips so its easier for her. Her hands push down his pants and his boxers go with as she raises her own hips, wanting her own pants gone so she can feel [i]all[/i] of him pressed against her.

* * *

When they feel each other's bare skin for the first time, both of them cry out. Loudly.

Her body shudders underneath his and that only makes him harden even more against her thigh. Her hands roam up and down his back, her fingers playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck while his lips slide down her neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along her skin before he reaches one of her tight, dusty nipples.

His control is resting on a silver's edge by the time his mouth has moved onto her other nipple and when she rolls her hips against his as slow as she can, he breathes her name against her glistening alabaster skin, "Jennifer."

His ears are assaulted by the soft whimpers he remembers her making inside his office and he can't take it anymore. Positioning himself at her entrance, he can feel the heat that's radiating off of her and just before he slides inside that slick, velvet warmth, he tells her, "Open your eyes."

He knows he should leave well enough alone . . . That just being here . . . Having her like this again, should be enough, but this time he wants to see her.

This time he wants her blue irises - the blue so blue it's almost black - glazed over with lust and want staring back at him, as she shudders and quakes while cries that taper off into purrs tumble from her lips and ring in his ears.

Her breathing is shaky and her lips tremble as her long, dark eyelashes flutter and give way to her eyes just as he imagined them to be - the blue so blue it's almost black and glazed over with lust, as he slides himself inside of her.

Her alabaster skin comes alive with the tell tale flush of arousal and he breathes in her heady scent as her hips roll against his.

Her thighs quiver as she angles her hips so everytime he thrusts, his hardened length hits that perfect, slick spot inside of her, making those cries that taper off into purrs fall from her lips.

_**(I never could have seen**_

_**Never could have seen this coming**_

_**The most amazing things**_

_**They arrive within a moment**_

_**I never could have seen**_

_**Never could have seen this coming) (Tyrone Wells)**_

He throbs inside of her as a shuddering breath escapes her while their hips clash in perfect timing, as both of them are coming closer and closer to the proverbial edge.

He hears her breathe out his name, "Aaron," as her body quakes and shudders underneath his and he knows she's even closer than before.

Bringing his hand away from her hip, he slips his fingers inside the opening their connected bodies provide and with just the lightest brush of his fingers, she is pushed over the edge, her body shuddering and quaking harder than before as she lets her release consume her.

His own has been coiling tighter and tighter in the pit of his stomach with every one of her whimpers and every shudder of her body and it finally overwhelms him, when her smooth thighs clench tightly around his hips and he spills himself inside of her, her walls milking him for all he has.

_**(I never could have seen**_

_**Never could have seen this coming**_

_**You are here with me, I'm alive all of the sudden**_

_**Anyone can see, anyone can see it's beautiful)**_

Her eyes are closed now, her breathing no longer harsh but soft and muted and her body is slowly stilling underneath his.

Her eyelids flutter and her blue gaze meets his dark brown, her teeth take her bottom lip into her mouth and she nibbles nervously on the swollen skin.

Her voice is barely above a whisper when she asks, "You okay?"

He knows what she needs to hear and he bends his head forward, his lips grazing the glistening skin of her collarbone before he raises his head, their eyes locking once again.

His lips curve at the edges and the small dimple on the left side of his mouth, that's rarely seen, appears as he nods. His fingers stroke her hair, trying to put her at ease any way he can.

"I'm okay, JJ." His voice has a teasing edge when he murmurs, "Better than okay, actually."

He feels her relax against him and her easy smile envelopes her swollen lips as she murmurs, "I know the feeling, Hotch."

They both know, that despite the fact that he's still sheathed inside of her, that they're still as connected as to people can be and that they're pressed skin to skin, it's easier to fall back into old patterns.

That now that it's all over, it's time to go back to the real world. Back to being JJ and Hotch and not Aaron and Jennifer.

And that once again, they're trapped by the circumstances of their own making . . . Of their personalities . . . Of their vigilance that tells them they can't lose control.

But that doesn't mean they'll forget this. Because they both know, they couldn't if they tried.

_**(This is beautiful**_

_**Unforgettable, this is beautiful)**_

_**Song used - "This Is Beautiful" by Tyrone Wells**_


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: This is the last part of the story and it centers around the season three finale "Lo-Fi."_

**We Can't Erase It**

**Part Five of Five**

_**The love we made/We can't erase it **_

_**- Erin McCarley**_

Her breathing is unsteady as she somehow successfully matches Garcia's usual lively strides step for step, trying to ignore the tumbling of her stomach while they make their way into the New York field office.

Her head is pounding and she pushes away the heaviness of her heart, when she watches him make the introductions of the team to the head of the field office, Kate Joyner. Her eyes linger on the tall, slim brown eyed blonde who's hair just barely reaches the underside of her chin and she knows she shouldn't say anything, but she can't stop herself.

Elbowing Garcia, the remark falls of her tongue in a biting tone she hopes her friend can't detect, "Is it just me? Or does she look just like Haley?"

The eccentric computer tech's dark red lips curve into her familiar smile and she shakes her head. "Honey, all blondes not named Penelope Garcia, who is a true original in every sense, look alike. If you cut and lightened your hair and grew a couple inches, you could pass for the former Mrs. Boss Man."

Her stomach tumbles and she can feel the sour taste of bile rising up inside her throat, signaling that she'll be making a run for the bathroom at any moment. Her feet carry her toward the slim, tall blonde, a shaky breath falling from her lips as she asks, "Could you point me in the direction of the bathroom, please?"

SSA Joyner's voice is poised and clipped as she nods and points a long, slender finger toward the back of the field office's bull pen, "It's straight back and to your right."

The nod of her head serves as a thank you because the bile is rising faster and faster, her stomach doing somersaults inside of her and she rushes in the appointed direction.

The back of her hand wipes her mouth clean before she washes her hands and reemerges to do whatever the team needs to help catch the UnSub.

As she slides into the only available chair at the table in the conference room they're set up in, her arm brushes against his and tingles race up and down her spine. Pushing the feelings those tingles stir up to the back of her mind, she picks up the clicker she always carries with her and points at the video projector that's been set up to show the team all the information they have so far.

* * *

He breaks the meeting about twenty minutes later and they're all prepared to go out and canvas the streets with the local police. He's right behind her when she reaches the open door and before she can take another step, he places his hand on her elbow, making her turn her head.

He swallows hard and holds her blue gaze. "You're all right, aren't you, JJ?"

He can't help but notice how her eyes drift away from his, looking down at her feet before meeting his again. He sees her lips trembling and he can't stop himself from thinking back to their stolen nights that took place months ago . . . And how when her lips trembled, shuddering breaths and pleasure filled purrs fell from them.

He pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind, mentally chastising himself and he revels in the softness of her voice as it washes over him. "I'm okay, Hotch."

He knows she isn't . . . That the silent understanding they've always shared tells him she isn't, but there's nothing he can do when they're here.

They have a case to solve and that always takes precedent over everything else no matter how personal the problem.

He nods, his hand falling away from her elbow, but the heat from her body still lingering on his skin. He brushes past her, trying not to touch her body but he doesn't fully succeed and his stomach tightens, remembering how smooth and pliant she felt against him while she trembled and shuddered.

His eyes meet hers as he turns back and he tells her, "Stay focused, okay? This won't be an easy case and we need you here. We need all of you here, not just physically but mentally."

The fierceness that shines through her usual calm demeanor, is on full display across her pretty features and with a sharp nod of her head, she tells him, "All of me is here, Hotch. Mentally and physically. You don't have to worry."

* * *

Her eyes are wide, her heart is beating out of control and her hands are shaking as she steps off the elevator with Emily, Spence and Hotch to see Will standing in the lobby. Her feet carry her toward him, as fast as they ever have and she knows what the others are thinking, but only she knows how wrong they are.

Her fast movements aren't made because she hasn't seen him in months . . . Since that night, the night she so blatantly used him so she could try and forget Hotch. Her movements are fast because she's trying to end their conversation as fast as possible.

Before they can corner them and start asking questions. Questions she knows he'll ask and the answers she'll give - because she can't lie to him - are answers she isn't sure she's ready to face.

Her eyes fill up with tears at the thought and a shuddering breath falls from her lips, when his familiar warm hand cups her cheek, his thumb brushing away the lone tear that trickles down.

"Hey, cherie," He drawls, that lopsided smile appearing across his lips. "This ain't nothin' to cry over. This is somethin' to celebrate. We're gonna have a baby."

"Yeah." She murmurs, knowing she should have something more to say.

"I know ya'll are workin' a case and I shouldn't just show up like this, but I thought we could tell them all together, you know? I thought it would be better that way. So your friends don't think I'm some dog who's just gonna leave you up North to raise the baby alone."

She can feel him standing behind her and she swallows hard before she turns around on quaking legs to meet his gaze. She's breathing quickly, her heart is pounding beneath her chest and when Will's hand grasps hers, she knows how she should feel but she can only muster a shaky grin in his direction as Will's familiar slow drawl reverberates in her ears.

"JJ and I are having a baby."

* * *

He steadies his breathing like he would if a suspect or an UnSub turned the tables during an investigation. He stares into her doe shaped oceanic depths and he knows Reid and Prentiss won't question him later about his silence because that's what they both expect of him.

Silence.

He listens as Prentiss lets out an uncharacteristic squeal, her deep brown eyes shining bright as she hugs the small blonde and murmurs a bright, "Congratulations," in her ear before pulling back.

He holds her gaze as Reid comes forward and hugs her tightly. He wears his usual shy smile before turning to Will and shaking his hand, offering him the standard congratulations instead.

He knows why she's tried to hold onto this for as long as she could, it's all clear inside those big blue eyes of hers and because of the understanding they've always shared, he can't help but be hurt that he's finding out this way.

His voice is uncharacteristically soft, something the young genius and the worldly brunette would have picked up on under any other circumstance, when he says, "JJ, you could've told me."

His breathing picks up just a little because her response is simple - too simple - when all she murmurs is, "I know."

He wishes she weren't so easy to read, that he didn't understand all the complications behind her simple response. He wishes she could hide the lingering heat in her gaze when their eyes would meet and that small catch in her breath when their arms would brush against each other's in passing because if she could it would make this all just a little easier.

He falls easily into old habits, once again falling victim to circumstance where she is concerned and he tells her, "I understand if you need to take some time."

* * *

Seeing him slip so easily back into the stoicism he wears like armor, has her doing what she does best and putting on the same face she puts on for the press.

Her features are still, showing no signs of anything but the strength she needs to perform the task at hand, but she knows he can see everything . . . How sorry she is, why she needed to keep this from him and the fact that she's the one trapping them into a circumstance they thought they had escaped.

Her throat is tight but she tells him what she has to. "I want to be here."

Her stomach tumbles from being close enough that she can feel the all too familiar heat radiating from his body and she knows he understands why she wants to be here.

And somehow she's hurting because of how well he knows her while being thankful that he knows her so well at the same time. Because she knows when he gives her the standard order of being back here at whatever time he sets, Will is going to try and convince her that she should be at home, that she should rest.

But she can't rest. She can't go home. She needs to be here. She needs to do what she has to do to help the team solve the case.

And she just needs to be near him right now . . . As much as it hurts . . . She needs it because the unspoken fact is . . . If not for one stolen night in New Orleans, if the need to forget him wasn't so great, this baby inside of her could have been his.

And she knows he knows that as much as she does.

* * *

He knew what she would say. That leaving the case and the team were the last things she would do.

Just like he knew what she wasn't saying, what she couldn't say . . . What neither of them could say in the middle of the lobby of a New York City hotel with the father of her baby and two people who were trained to read behavior standing two feet away.

He has to steady his breathing again because she's close enough that her familiar smell . . . That sweet, feminine fragrance of cherry blossoms that haunt his nights and plague his days, is invading his senses and making it harder and harder not to reach for her.

He studies her - sizing her up - like he would if Prentiss came to him with this same news and in keeping up appearances, he gives her one last out . . . One last chance to let him digest her news alone without her surrounding him in every way.

"I know you understood me when I said that I understand if you need to take some time, JJ."

He doesn't know why he wasted his time, when he knows what her response will be, but he just had to . . . For himself. Because this would be easier for him to handle . . . Easier for him not to dwell on the what ifs . . . Easier for the memories of her skin pressed against his own not to haunt him if she went home.

She does what he expected her to do. She shakes her head firmly and in the strong yet musical tone of her soft voice, tells him, "I told you, I want to be here, Hotch. I'm not leaving you and the team in the middle of an unsolved case."

He nods and breaks their gaze for a moment so he can motion Prentiss and Reid back over to them because having them there will make walking away from her a lot easier.

He meets her blue eyes again and he gives them all the same order, "We meet back here at seven A.M. sharp. I don't have to tell you how tough this case is, so looking at it with fresh eyes tomorrow will do us all some good. Get as much rest as you can."

He turns on his heel, walking toward the elevator, determined not to look back even though he can feel her eyes on him the entire way.

Walking into his hotel room, he contradicts himself by pulling out the files on the case, but he doesn't have a choice because pulling out the files is better than getting caught up in the what ifs where the media liaison of his team is concerned.

Picking up the phone, he dials Kate's number knowing she's trapped by the same vigor to catch the bad guys that he is. Her familiar accent flows through the receiver and he makes himself believe that doing this - focusing on the case - will keep his mind from drifting back to the brief moments when he and JJ weren't trapped by circumstances of their own making.


End file.
